


Weakness

by ellibot (solversonlou)



Category: Hotel Artemis
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Father/Son Incest, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 09:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15704151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solversonlou/pseuds/ellibot
Summary: "You better not be crying again, Crosby."Crosby isn't weak. His father digresses.





	Weakness

To be respected by The Wolf King, you had no room for being weak.

'Soft', that's what he'd told his youngest son his entire life, whether it be when he was five years old and crying over a scraped knee, or eighteen and trying to hide the tears on his face after a crew member he'd been far too close to for his father's liking had perished in a gun blaze. 

Crosby was the youngest of his boys. Sensitive. Always trying too hard to prove himself. It was boring, quite frankly, so The Wolf King did as The Wolf King does and toyed with him, tried to get him to act on his own accord instead of sucking up to him.

"You better not be crying again, Crosby," he says nonchalantly, sipping on a cocktail as his son sits on the couch in their living room, fists balled tightly on his knees. "You know how ugly it makes you look."

Crosby remains silent, tries not to look over at his father so he can't see him cry. His audible swallow back of a sob is a giveaway, regardless, and Niagara lets out a long sigh.

"Crosby..." he lowers his drink on the side table next to the armchair he's sat in before clasping his hands around the arms. Tutting, he draws the attention of his son, who can't help but look at him. "Come here."

Niagara makes a come hither gesture with his fingers, and Crosby doesn't know what else to do but oblige, rising to his feet and crossing the room, stopping before his father, who just blinks up at him.

"Oh, Crosby," the older man sighs, shakes his head as his son glances down at his feet, scrubs at the tears on his cheeks with the back of his hand. "When are you going to be a man and take control?"

Crosby inhales, breath shaky as his jaw clenches. He rolls back his shoulders, tries not to think about the disappointment in his father's tone, or the failed mission from the day. There's still blood on Crosby's sleeve from putting a bullet in a child's head. He could never cope with such tasks. Grown men were easy.

"I am a man," Crosby exhales, eyes sliding open, dark in the dim light of their living room. He swallows, gaze dragging over Niagara, squaring him up like a plucky, younger cub. It peaks his father's interest somewhat, his brow raising as Crosby steps closer. "I'm not weak."

"Hm," The older man hums, eyes half lidded as he blinks up at his son, who crowds him, palms pressed to the arms of his chair as he leans over him. "Why don't you take a seat and prove it?"

Crosby's spine tingles at the words, skin flushing hot at the memory of the fleeting times that had happened before. He can still smell his father's cologne on the jacket he'd worn that first time. He buries his face into it some nights, biting back groans as he rocks his hips into silk sheets.

Niagara's breath hitches in his throat when he feels a jean clad knee, pressing into his crotch as Crosby stares down at him, lips parted and pupils blown.

"Daddy," Crosby drawls, knee lifting off of his father's crotch. His legs move to straddle his lap instead, hands pressing over his shoulders. They're both half-hard already, friction through layers of fabric. The Wolf King's fingers find purchase on Crosby's hips, thumbs pressing under the hem of his shirt, hot skin against skin. "You know that nobody can make you come like I can."

"Hmm," Niagara, hips rocking up from the armchair, the weight of his fully grown son on his lap not entirely good on his knees, but he doesn't really give a shit. Not when Crosby's words are ringing true. He grins, despite himself, despite being under the control of someone who'd been crying mere minutes before. "Baby, that might just be the most honest thing you've ever said."

Crosby cranes forward, lips brushing against his father's as he exhales, teeth grazing his bottom lip as he whispers, words almost childish, "Told you I wasn't weak."

**Author's Note:**

> we're all going to prison.


End file.
